Formula Phryne
by NancyMay
Summary: What if Phryne had been the one in the car. An alternative look at Blood at the Wheel, have Jack's worst fears been realised.
1. Chapter 1

Jack pulled up in a cloud of dust and a squeal of brakes. The call; a motor accident, a female driver, of course he thought the worst.

The car was nose into a tree, the front end crushed in, the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Various people were gathered round, police officers, members of whatever motor club she had belonged to, staring.

Huge Collins looked up and gulped, this was the last thing he expected to tell the Inspector. Dottie always said she drove too fast but, in spite of that, she was a good driver.

"Collins!" Jack called, not believing, hoping what he saw was not what it could be.

"Sir!" Hugh was instantly by him, not wanting him to see, "an accident ... too fast ... hit a tree ..." Jack pushed him aside. Surely not, not this way, please god, or whoever was watching ... he swallowed what came up from his stomach ... he had to be sure. Blinking he tried to put aside what was before him, and yet he had to look, to check, to know for sure.

The car was not the Hispano, a little voice in his head said she wouldn't race her beloved car, 'no Jack!' it said, 'not the Hispano'. He pushed Collins aside and went, far too quickly for an impartial police inspector, to the car. The noises, voices mutterings around him melted into the background as he looked at the figure. All of a sudden he was in another world. He reached in and moved her hair out of the way, all the better to see her sweet face, so gentle in repose. Her eyelashes formed half moons of black against the pallor of her cheeks, the red of her mouth a slash of harsh colour. His fingers strayed to her jawline, tracing a line down her neck, unconsciously finding the pulse point. A faint fluttering, a beat, against his fingertip, an indication ... would he have the chance to say all he wanted to say, to tell her? He took a short, sharp breath and wrenched the door open. Reaching round under her shoulder blades, her head fell against his chest, his other arm slipped under her knees and he found, as he lifted her, she was so light, so fragile ...

"Collins!" he yelled," cradling the precious cargo, "you're driving ... the hospital, quick!"

"Sir?"

"There's a pulse ..."

Hugh was normally a steady driver, this time he drove more like Miss Fisher while the Inspector sat in the back with her in his arms.

"Hang on, Phryne," he whispered urgently, "hang on, please."

He pushed her leather helmet back to reveal a bruise forming across her forehead from the steering wheel. He bent and gently kissed it, as if it would wipe away the mark.

Hugh pulled up outside the Women's Hospital, leapt out and opened the door for Jack.

"Get Dr Macmillan," Jack urged as he slid out, slowly. He turned to Phryne, "let's see what Mac has to say about your head, shall we?" He sounded like he was talking to a child, perhaps it comforted him more, she would have given him a withering look, if she was awake. Oh, what he would give for one of those looks, just now, or a wink, or ... or ...

"Inspector!" Mac's voice cut through his thoughts, "Hugh says ... bloody hell, what has she done?"

"Ordinarily I'd blame her for driving too fast," Jack followed her down the corridor to a room, "but we need to look at the car first." Rational thought took over for a few minutes, she was too good a driver to crash on a bend like that.

"Just the head?" Mac indicated he lie her down on the bed.

"No idea, as soon as I found the pulse ..."

"Right, well, off you go and detect ..." Mac, and a nurse she had grabbed on the way to the room, started to undress Phryne, "you can come back later and see her. I'll get a message to you if I need to."

"Thanks, Mac," he squeezed her arm, "I'll see you later, Miss Fisher." He looked over at the bed.

Mac watched him go, shaking her head sadly.

"Poor sod," she mused, "falling in love with Phryne Fisher is not one of his wiser decisions." She turned to the task at hand.

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X-rays showed Phryne had sustained fractures to her ribs and some bruising. She had dislocated her right elbow, which Mac pulled back into position and strapped in place. Apart from the large bruise across her forehead and the other injuries she had come out of the accident remarkably unscathed. The leather driving helmet she had been wearing had protected her head somewhat, and there was no fracture to her skull. Mac checked her pupil reactions, they were fine, so all she had to do was wake up.

"I don't know when that will happen," the doctor murmured to the nurse. "Once you have made her comfortable I would like you to stay with her for a while, I don't want her waking up on her own. If she has memory issues she could be very frightened," though Mac thought she was more likely to be angry and frustrated. She wouldn't like the standard issue gown she was dressed in, either, she thought with a wry grin.

"Very well, doctor," the nurse pulled a chair close to the bed, "any other instructions?"

"If the Inspector should happen by he is to allowed to sit with her as long as he wants."

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Back at the site of the accident, mechanics from the Adventuress' Club were giving the car the once over before it was transported to the garage. Two constables were examining the tyre tracks. Jack knew he had to be there but he would rather be by Phryne's bedside so the quicker he could get this part of the investigation sorted the better.

"What have we got?" he called, "anything about the car?"

"Can't tell until we get it to the garage," a mechanic, he couldn't remember who, Phryne had briefly introduced them once, grunted. He watched the car being hitched to the tow truck and taken off to be examined.

He decided to follow. There was nothing he could do at the site. The tyre tracks showed nothing unusual, except for the fact there was no skid marks, nothing to indicate she had applied the brakes. He and Hugh stood there musing on that fact. A small fact that could have big implications.

"I want to know what they find," Jack hissed, "there's no way she wouldn't have braked, and at speed, there should be evidence of skidding."

"Sir," Collins nodded, "I've walked back a bit further but I can't see anything, certainly no signs of braking."

Jack was musing on this fact as he drove to the garage. They had the car up high enough to walk underneath but all the mechanics were just standing around muttering to each other.

"So, why aren't you tinkering, or whatever you were supposed to be doing?" he folded his arms and stared at them.

"We've tinkered," one of the female mechanics smirked, "you're right, there was something wrong. Look here ..." She pulled him underneath the car and pointed to some thin cables, "... brake cables, ..."

"They're not attached to anything," Jack pointed out, "how would they work?"

"They wouldn't," she pushed her hands into the pockets of her grubby overalls, "these have been purposefully broken. Look at this end," she pulled the pipe down, "see here, a very straight cut, small enough to be missed in pre race checks but enough to weaken it so when she applied the brakes it snapped. You can see the tension on the end."

Jack took hold of the cable and angled it so he could see them better. He pursed his lips and scowled, it looked very much like someone had wanted Phryne to fail, and in the worst possible way, too. He turned to Collins, waiting patiently at the side.

"Right," Jack let the cable dangle from its mooring, "nobody goes anywhere, interview everyone that was here before the race, during it and anyone who had access to the cars."

"Sir," Hugh looked around, "er..."

"Find a room you can use, Collins," he huffed, "take two other constables with you." He turned to the woman who had shown him the evidence, "I suppose you're going to tell me anyone and everyone could have come in, to look at the cars."

"Almost, but there are always mechanics around here," she agreed, "and anyone under a car would be noticed. Con's always in here, she knows who's who." She pointed to a woman cleaning a piece of machinery.

"Drivers?"

"Them too," she nodded, "she'll know who was near Phryne's car." She thought for a moment, running her hands through her short hair, "she is ok, isn't she? I heard you took her to hospital."

"When I left she was unconscious, still," Jack breathed deeply, "Dr Macmillan was looking after her."

"Good, Mac'll see her right."

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Connie wouldn't meet Jack's eyes as he asked her about the comings and goings before the race. She seemed to put rather a lot of effort into polishing the metal part while giving him the run down on who worked on what car, when and for how long. He could see she was a mine of information and was about to finish his questions when he noticed the splash of a tear on the back of her hand. Hm ... maybe a bit of a crush on our Lady Detective, he thought, unrequited he was sure. Her only motive would be jealousy but Phryne hadn't been dangling a conquest on her arm that day ... or recently, come to think of it.

"Inspector!", someone waved a phone receiver at him, "Dr Mac!"

It was a short call, noted only by him humming and nodding, before he replaced the receiver and headed out of the garage to find Hugh Collins.

He was in the middle of interviewing another driver but paused when his superior entered the room.

"I'm going back to the hospital," he muttered, "I want to see what you've got when you finish. You know where to find me."

"Sir," Hugh nodded, understanding perfectly, he would be at Wardlow, if he wasn't at the hospital.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAs he drove he mused on what Mac had told him. Phryne had come round and, true to form, had complained about the gown she was wearing and the starched sheets she was lying on. But, more than that, she almost demanded to see the Inspector, immediately. To him it sounded like she was not seriously hurt, which he thanked God for, but what was so urgent? He wondered if Mac had strapped her to the bed, to prevent her from coming after him. He smiled to himself, it was the best news he'd had all day.

He nearly knocked Dot over when he barrelled through the doors.

"Miss Williams, I am sorry," he caught her arm to steady her, "I should look where I'm going."

"Don't worry, Inspector, I expect you have other things on your mind." She smiled her sweet, shy smile, "I've just helped Miss Fisher change into her own pyjamas, and Mr Butler has sent a basket of her favourite things. Dr Macmillan hopes that will keep her where she wants her, for now, anyway."

"That's most thoughtful of you, I hope she was grateful," Jack had an image of Phryne being quite ... quite Phryne.

"She was her usual pleasant self, sir." She nodded, "oh, she has a dreadful bruise, not looking her best, so ..."

"I'll try not to," he grinned, instantly getting her meaning.

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Dot had been a little reticent in her description. The bruise covered most of her forehead and was multiple shades of purple, and she had dark circles round her eyes which accentuated the pallor of her cheeks. Safe to say Phryne was definitely, as Dot had said, 'not looking her best'. Being half prepared he managed not to gasp, but his concern showed and she saw it.

"I'm fine, Jack," she managed a small smile, "really."

He was not fooled, and told her so.

"Are you angry with me, for racing?" she motioned him to sit on the edge of the bed. "I don't want you to be angry with me."

He swore there were tears in her eyes, she was not usually worried about him being angry for one of her actions, she always told him she knew what she was doing, even when she didn't. Besides, she was not his wife, she didn't have to ask permission to take part in a race.

"It wasn't your fault, so, no, I'm not angry," he said, softly, "so, now, how do you really feel?"

"Bloody," she sniffed, "rotten headache, my arm hurts - Mac says I dislocated my elbow - and my ribs hurt when I breathe."

"You were very lucky," he touched her arm, "your brake cables were tampered with. It wasn't an accident, Miss Fisher ..."

"...you called me 'Phryne' in the car," she smiled.

"...Miss Fisher," he continued, "someone wanted you out of the race ... at least." His face took on its most serious expression, "so, who have you crossed, lately?"

"Why, Inspector," some of her sparkle came back, "do you really think that I, Phryne Fisher, would have crossed someone?"

He shook his head slowly and tried to hide his smile.

"No one, Jack," she continued, "as far as I am aware, I haven't trodden on any toes this week, all my cases have been cleared up satisfactorily, for my clients. Anyone who has been on the wrong side has been arrested and is currently taking advantage of your hospitality at City South."

He looked at her, unconsciously stroking her hand, which she found strangely comforting. It was true, unless she had hidden a case from him, all the cases she had had were just awaiting court.

"The Adventuress' Club ... anything going on there?"

"Only the race," she tipped her head, then winced as a sharp pain shot through her, "I mean one of us competing."

"Was it always going to be you?"

"No, Gertie," she lay back against the pillows, "but she suddenly got cold feet. She gave me her blessing."

"You need to rest," he noted her increased pallor, "Mac'll have my hide if I upset you." He made to get up.

"You aren't upsetting me," she smiled, "stay a little longer. I'm afraid I can only offer Mr Butler's excellent coffee as a nightcap, but ..."

He smiled, "I think that would be just right, tonight, but just the one."

"What will you do, tomorrow?" she asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

"Probably try and speak to Gertie," he thought. "What do you know of Connie?"

"A good mechanic, one of the best."

"She wouldn't look me in the eye, but I don't think it was because she was hiding some nugget about the car," he watched for any reaction that would confirm his suspicion. She knew he wouldn't use it against the woman, that was not what he was investigating, only if it was pertinent to the case, and he was fairly sure it wasn't.

"Connie is sweet, lonely though. She's not found the one for her, well, she thinks she has but ..." Phryne sighed, "... that person isn't available."

"I hope she was let down gently."

Miss Fisher knew that he had worked it out, that Connie was pining for her, "I did my best."

"I'm sure you did," he put his cup down, and took hers from her small hand. She wasn't drinking it, and let it go easily. "Now, time for you to get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Jack," she slipped down into the bed and let him tidy the covers over her.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you."

As he gazed at her he gave into temptation and softly kissed the bruise on her forehead. "Sleep well."

She watched him leave the room and smiled to herself.

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Jack decided to head for Wardlow, he expected Constable Collins would be there, checking in on Dot and possibly enjoying some of Mr Butler's delicious cooking. He wanted to go over any statements he had taken, try to narrow the field of suspects. Someone wanted Phryne out of the race, at the very least, the other idea didn't bear thinking about. So ... why?

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Jack went round to the kitchen door and, after a gentle tap on the window pushed it open and smiled at the sight before him. Dot and Hugh were sitting at the table, drinking tea, Mr Butler was slicing something up, something that smelled appetising, and there was a file on the table. So, it looked like Collins had brought the statements with him.

"Good evening, Inspector," Mr Butler turned, "dinner will be in fifteen minutes. I'm sure Miss Fisher would wish you to be suitably sustained during your investigations."

"Thank you, Mr Butler," he took a chair next to his officer, "it smells delicious."

"Did Miss Fisher eat much, Inspector?" Miss Williams looked worried, "she said she'd try."

"I don't think so, Miss Williams," he poured himself some tea, "I rather think she's not feeling up to eating, just yet." He remembered seeing a sandwich on a plate that had only one bite out of it, and the fact that she only took a couple of sips of the coffee led him to believe she really didn't feel well, at all.

"Oh dear," Dot sighed, "I hope she's alright."

"I'm sure, that under Dr Macmillan's care, she will be fine," Jack gave her a sympathetic smile, "head injuries can make you feel pretty dreadful for a while ... let's see what tomorrow brings, eh?"

"I suppose so," but she still looked worried.

"She is under Dr Macmillan, Dorothy," Mr Butler reminded her, "she will do her utmost to see that Miss Fisher is soon back with us."

Jack didn't add that might be sooner rather than later; Phryne would drive the hospital staff round the bend!

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"Inspector," Mr Butler brought a drink through for Jack, "I have made up the guest room for yourself."

Jack looked up from the pile of statements and blinked. His watch showed it was well past midnight, not an unusual time for being in Miss Fisher's parlour, but she wasn't there. Where had the time gone?

"Mr Butler, that's most kind of you, but ..."

"I'm sure Miss Fisher would want it to be so, sir, were she here," he placed the glass down on the side table, "and it is rather late."

Jack was tired enough to give in rather easily. How many times had Phryne offered the same accommodation, or more personal accommodation, that he had refused, worried it might lead down a road with the same kind of ending she had herself endured that day.

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He woke the following morning to find his suit pressed, a clean shirt, that he was sure was brand new and fresh undergarments, also brand new. That would be Mr Butler's doing, he thought, probably kept - just in case.

He could get used to this lifestyle, he reflected, as he ate a better breakfast than he would usually cook for himself. So tempting ... but no, he was a copper, and coppers didn't live in the lap of luxury and have their breakfast brought to them by a butler with the newspaper, neatly pressed. Unless they got to be Deputy Commissioner - but then he didn't want to sit in his ivory tower and tell his Inspectors who they could and could not investigate in a crime. So he would stay a copper, and stay where he felt he could do the most good. Which, in this case, meant finding out who had cut the brake cables and whether or not Phryne was the actual target.

The statements had yielded nothing of any real help, nobody saw anything unusual, no strangers or any undue work being done. Statements from the other competitors, all men, he had noted, had said they were sorry to hear she had been hurt, she was a 'game girl'. One or two had mooted it really wasn't the place for a woman. His musings were disturbed by the shrill ring of the telephone. He heard Mr Butler mutter something and assumed it was someone calling for the lady of the house.

"Inspector," Mr Butler entered the dining room, "Dr Macmillan asks if you would mind very much attending Miss Fisher at the hospital."

Jack folded the newspaper and put in next to his now empty plate. Taking a last mouthful of the delicious coffee he nodded and headed out to the hall where Mr Butler handed him his hat and coat, and the file of statements.

"Please, if you don't mind, inform Miss Fisher I shall send a hamper for her presently."

"I'm sure she will be delighted about that."

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	2. Chapter 2

**I would just like to thank all the people who have read and reviewed this story, the followers and favourite - ers, I was really quite bowled over.**

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Jack hoped Mac's urgency didn't mean Phryne had taken a turn for the worse. She hadn't looked well last night, but he had hoped a good night's rest would improve her wellbeing.

He took a deep breath and headed down to her room, nodding to various nurses, trying to appear unconcerned.

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"Phryne, please," Dr Macmillan insisted, "sit down."

"I'll be fine, Mac," she was just as insistent, "really." She stood willing the dizziness to go away, placing her hand nonchalantly on the bedside locker to steady her.

"No you won't," Mac put her hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, "I know you, Phryne Fisher, and I know when you are not fit to go anywhere."

Jack's sharp rap on the door interrupted them, he had heard almost everything, and while he was worried about the Lady Detective, he was glad she seemed to be up to arguing with Dr Macmillan. He pushed open the door and peered into the room.

"Ladies," he smiled, "is it safe to come in?"

"Jack!" Phryne spun round and wobbled. In two strides Jack was there and holding her steady, then guiding her to the bed. "It's a while since a man has had that effect on me, Inspector," she smiled, but it was obvious, from her pallor and the vague expression, she was not 'fine'.

"Is that so, Miss Fisher," he sat next to her, "and I thought I always had this effect on you."

"I've been trying to explain to her she's not ready to leave hospital, yet," Mac put her hands in the pocket of her white coat. "That was a heck of a bang to the forehead, she's still experiencing dizzy spells and hasn't eaten."

He looked at her and drew his brows together.

"Jack, I ..."

"Miss Fisher, how about I make a deal with you?" he thought quickly, "with Dr Macmillan's permission," he looked up and Mac indicated he should carry on, "you stay in the hospital and I will let you read the statements and discuss the case with me."

She looked at him, he had worry written all over his face. She had never seen him look that worried about her, if she had, she had dismissed it with a wave of her hand and a disarming smile.

"Jack ..." she pouted, she hated hospitals; the white sterile environment, the smell of antiseptic ... urgh! The trouble was they were both right and that annoyed her, that she wasn't in control. She slumped against him, "...I suppose so ..."

"That's better," he kept his eyes on the doctor for confirmation of his actions, "and Mr Butler will be sending a hamper of goodies for you."

"I'll let Dot bring you anything you need, but ..." Mac knew this was going to be the hardest, "no covering that bruise with makeup and trying to fool me, Phryne Fisher, because we both know it won't work." She folded her arms and looked stern.

Together, Jack and Dr Macmillan settled her back in bed, propping her up on the pillows and smoothing the covers. After pouring a glass of water and noting it on the fluids chart Mac left them to the statements, sure that the Inspector wouldn't let her do too much.

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"The one thing I do want from you, Miss Fisher," he sat on the edge of the bed, and she smiled at the return to his using her formal title, "is a statement. What happened before the race."

"Technically, Inspector," two could play at that game, "it was just a trial. The race is today," she sighed and frowned.

"Maybe next year," he smiled gently.

"You wouldn't mind?" she brightened, "you'd let me race."

"Miss Fisher, Phryne," he grinned, "I can't tell you what to do or not to do, and I wouldn't presume anyway. Let's face it, you do what you want, no matter what I say. I might even stand on the finish line." If she was asking his permission she was either teasing him or she really wasn't well.

She grinned back, even though that hurt her forehead as the muscles and skin moved. "Now, my statement ..."

She proceeded to tell him, in rather more detail than he was used to from a member of the public, how she had arrived at a disgustingly early hour to enter her name as a competitor, speak to Gertie and look over the car.

"There was no one there I didn't know," she looked up and the ceiling as she visualised the events of that morning, "and all the mechanics were working on one car or another. I confess I am no mechanic, but I had no cause to doubt anyone there. Connie worked on my car, she always works with Gertie, and drove it out to the start line for me."

"She didn't say there was anything wrong with your brakes," Jack pulled out Connie's statement. "Could she have missed it? The cuts in the cables were easy to miss in pre-race checks," he pulled out Ailsa's; that was the mechanic he'd been talking to; statement which confirmed the conversation he'd had with her, when the tampering had been discovered.

"I trust those ladies with my life, Jack," she put the statement down, "really, I can't see it being Ailsa or Connie."

"What about the men?" he didn't want to draw her attention to the fact that sometimes the perpetrator of a crime was often more concerned about the victim, as if to cover their tracks.

Phryne massaged her temple with her finger, she was already finding thinking tiring. "Well, I'm not sure I like being referred to as a 'game girl'," she reached for her water, "but killing me just to stop me racing isn't very gentlemanly, is it?"

"But are they all gentlemen?" he smiled, "they are racing to win a cash prize."

"That implies they see me, a mere woman, as a threat," she set her glass down and relaxed into the pillow.

"I wouldn't describe you as a 'mere' woman, more a force to be reckoned with," he teased, but he could see she was in need of a break, perhaps a short nap. "Now, as I don't want Dr Macmillan to ban me from your bedside, I suggest you have a rest and I'll come back later. I'm sure Miss Williams is on her way with goodies to eat and clean nightwear."

"Can you leave the statements, I'll look through some of them," she didn't feel like arguing, and anyway he would want to be nosing about the garage, "Dot can take notes."

"Promise me you won't overdo it," he said sternly.

"Inspector, how could you even suggest such a thing," she smiled.

He just nodded, shook his head and put his hat on before leaving.

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Jack headed back to the garage and the start of the race, proper. Sitting in his car he noted the comings and goings of mechanics and drivers, sponsors spectators. Connie had her head under the bonnet of the ladies entry vehicle, he wondered who would be driving. Taking his hat from the passenger seat he left the car and sauntered over to them.

"Morning, ladies," he stood with his hands in his coat pockets, "who's driving?"

"Gertie," Ailsa came up behind him, "got to have one of us represent the 'fairer sex' and I don't suppose Phryne is up to it."

"No, but she's improving enough to argue with Mac," he rocked on his heels, "I thought Gertie had got cold feet."

"She's not happy about it, but she has more experience than the others," Ailsa folded her arms, "who told you she had cold feet?" She scowled.

"I thought that was why Miss Fisher was driving," he sidestepped the question.

"It was, but we don't want that getting out. The men will have a field day, they already think we're too delicate to drive a race car." They stared at each other for a while before Jack spoke.

"So, who was the target? Who knew Miss Fisher was driving?"

"Only the team, until she signed the papers," Ailsa couldn't make him out, Phryne had said he was a good copper, non judgemental, in that a person's race or gender didn't necessarily sway his judgement. "The car was ready by then."

"But someone could still have tampered with the brakes?" he thought it possible that, even when down from the ramp a mechanic could still have lay down under it.

"Yes, but I don't know of anyone who would want to kill either of them," Ailsa saw what he was getting at.

"Evidently somebody did," he mused, "I'm just going to wander round, may watch the start of the race."

She shrugged her shoulders and returned to whatever she was doing.

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Jack ambled between the team tents, chatting amiably to the drivers and mechanics, agreeing it was a shame Miss Fisher was unable to drive, but noting she would probably drive next year and watching for the reactions. Some said they would look forward to that, others just laughed and said she would have moved on to something else by then. But it was the ones that stayed silent, or non-committal, that interested him. He focussed his attention on them - there was three of them and they seemed to be very close.

There was a couple of hours before the actual race began so Jack went to find a telephone or some way of getting a message to Hugh. When he finally remembered the Adventuress' had a phone, he was kicking himself. He'd ruminated on the three who piqued his interest and decided they were up to something, as in working together.

"Collins, listen," he put his theory to the constable, "so, I want you to find out all you can about them; Cary Jones, Hal Porter and Christian Ellis. Send four constables down and the red raggers. I want them stationed along the route. Now you have half an hour to get these men to me, so hop to it."

"Sir," Collins had been making notes, "do you want me to bring the information to you?"

"Not yet, it depends on what happens here," Jack shook his head, "when you've got the background, go to see Miss Fisher, she has the statements."

At the station Hugh drafted the constables he thought would make the best job of observing, and called the red raggers, telling them to pick up two of the constables and the others would follow in a police car.

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Phryne had found her eyelids drooping after Dot had been and helped make her comfortable with fresh pyjamas, brushed her hair and encouraged her to eat a little of the things Mr Butler had sent. Her appetite had begun to return and she ate more than she had originally thought she could, two pieces of light quiche, a sandwich or two and a peach, strawberry and pear medley. It was all nice and light and settled well on her delicate stomach. Mac had heartily approved of the amount she had eaten and that she had taken some fluids in the form of tea and lemonade.

"Now, I suggest you have a nap," she ignored the raised eyebrow, "then you can read some more statements."

It was testament to Phryne's stubbornness that she tried so very hard to ignore the drooping eyelids, but in the end the file fell to the floor and her eyes closed.

As she slept something kept intruding on her dreams, something she had read in the statements, something that linked Jones, Ellis and Porter but it seemed to keep slipping out of sight. Unfortunately, such dreams meant she didn't exactly feel refreshed when she woke.

She was just wiping her face with the damp flannel that Dot had left when Hugh Collins knocked on the door.

He blushed as he entered, seeing Miss Fisher sitting up in bed, in pale pink satin pyjamas, though Dot had brought a pair with a proper jacket top and not those with fine straps and lots of lace. Still it was nightwear, he'd barely got over the shock of seeing her wearing a robe.

He explained that the Inspector had suggested he call to look at the statements if she had finished with them.

"So what does the good Inspector say, Hugh?" she indicated the chair and that he should sit, "who has he got his eye on?"

"Well..." so often he got a 'look' from the Inspector when it came out he had let slip some pertinent information...

"Come on, Hugh," she turned on a glittering smile, "I've read most of the statements."

"He's asked for four officers, Cec and Bert, to go and watch the race, along the route," Hugh sat down and picked up the files, leafing through to find the three statements Jack was interested in. "What do you know about ... Cary Jones, Hal Porter and Christian Ellis?"

"Not much," she wriggled so she was facing the young constable, "they tend to keep to themselves, a lot of whispering like schoolgirls." She thought for a moment, "before I was asked to take over from Gertie I spent some time with the team; I have sponsored them; those three were always hanging around."

Hugh stood up and tucked the file under his arm. "I'd best go tell the Inspector," he nodded politely, "I hope you're feeling better soon."

"Actually, Hugh," she pushed the covers down, Hugh made a quick getaway, not seeing the wicked little smile on the face of the Lady Detective. She did feel better, not perfect, but better. She reached into the hamper for the lemonade, kept nice and cool in a flask, and poured some into the glass on the bedside locker. Sipping it she thought again about the threesome that were always around. Their cars were nothing special, at least to look at, but who knew what was under the bonnet?

She pushed the covers away and sat on the edge of the bed, a trip to the bathroom would give her an idea of her current health. She looked about and realised that Dot had somehow forgotten to bring her robe over. She smiled, her companion knew her employer rather too well! She stood up, slowly, being found in a faint on the floor was an embarrassing thought, she never fainted. The room stayed firmly still, instead of whirling around her head. A few experimental steps increased her confidence and she headed into the corridor in search of a lavatory.

She couldn't have got much further than three or four steps before she was caught.

"Miss Fisher," an all too familiar voice called from behind, "can we help you?"

She turned, not too quickly, and smiled as Dr Macmillan approached, "just looking for the bathroom, Mac."

"There is a bell in your room, you should have rung that," Mac took her elbow, "but as you are here, and seem to be progressing well ..." she continued escorting her reluctant patient to the facilities she required, waited until she had dealt with the pressing matter of a full bladder, then escorted her back to her room.

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Settling her back in the bed, Mac did a few checks and told her she was confident that she would be able to go home the following day but that she was to take it easy for the rest of the week.

"Mac," the reluctant patient reached over to take her hand, "if I promise not to go charging round the race ..."

"No, Phryne ..."

"All I was going to ask was would you let Mr Butler drive me and Dot accompany me?" she looked at her friend, "I think I'd be more help if I was there."

"I know you do," Mac sat on the edge of the bed, "but if you were to collapse ..." she inhaled , "Phryne you know the dangers of head injuries, if anything were to happen ..."

"Come with me, then," Phryne smiled, "you know our team, you're part of the club ... what could be more natural than you coming to cheer on whoever is taking my place."

Aside from the dangers of Phryne being up and about to early there was also the danger her blood pressure would rise, not good, she could get agitated; it was probably the best scenario, and she had been intending on cheering on Phryne, anyway. But she wasn't going to make it easy for her friend so her shoulders sagged in resignation that she would have to run with it.

"I'll call Dot and ask her to bring you over a change of clothes," she stood and patted Phryne's cheek.

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Jack felt rather than saw Phryne as she, with Mac and Dot either side of her, sauntered over to him at the finish line.

Trying not to appear worried or surprised, he raised his hat to the ladies, "Miss Fisher, doctor, Miss Williams," he smiled, all the while keeping his eyes on Phryne. She was still pale, though she had tried to cover it with a light touch of makeup. The bruise was hidden by her fringe and cloche hat.

"Hello, Jack," she smiled her wide smile, "how's the investigation going?"

"Hm ..." he thought, "not particularly well. Nobody wanted you dead ..."

"... nice to know," she smirked.

"Quite," he nodded, "some think you will have moved on to something else by next year, some are looking forward to it ..."

"... and the rest?"

"Only three are somewhat non-committal," he offered her his arm and turned her towards the team stations, "it's those that I am concentrating on."

"Would that be Porter, Ellis and Jones?" she let go of Dot and took his arm instead, tipping her head and raising her eyebrow, slightly.

"Ah, you got round to their statements, then?"

"I think the answer lies at the team points," she exerted a light pressure on his arm pulling him round to face away from the finish line.

"Hm ... you could be right," he looked at Mac, "I'll see she doesn't tire herself, doctor, I'm sure you will want to see the end of the race."

"On your head be it, Inspector," Mac released her hold on Phryne's arm and watched them stroll towards the back of the crowd.

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Another chapter should see the end of this story, though I've said that before.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack and Phryne sauntered round the team area, nodding to some, smiling at others, not apparently looking for anything in particular. She steered him towards Porter's tent, it was empty of people, the race had started and everyone's eyes were on the cars. They scanned the benches, littered with springs, screws and mechanical bits that both had to admit they knew nothing about. However, they weren't looking for parts of cars that had been 'borrowed', they were looking for something that would cut a cable just enough to weaken it and not be seen. Jack had told her it was a very fine cut, and Gertie and Alisa had said a pair of normal pliers would have cut right through, it would require a more delicate blade.

Jack rummaged through a toolbox but found nothing of note. Phryne watched his face with interest. There was an expression she hadn't seen before, lost? And, he kept stealing glances, and checking her hand was still nestled in the crook of his arm. She found it strangely comforting.

"Perhaps another tent," she tugged gently at his sleeve, "let's try Jones', it's just next door."

"Are you alright?" she had been standing a while and he was concerned it would be too much for her.

"Yes, Jack," she smiled, softly, and thought, "for the moment."

"Tell me if you get tired ... please," he turned to face her, anyone watching would see two lovers in their own world.

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They were not much more successful at Jones' tent, at first. His bench was even more untidy that Porter's. Jack pushed little bits of metal, wires and cables, screws and tools around but nothing caught his eye. Phryne poked a gloved finger into a toolbox and stirred it around.

"Ow!" she jumped and pulled the digit out quickly, removed her glove and inspected the cut and the blood running down her hand towards her wrist.

Jack grabbed her hand and with the other hand wrapped a spotlessly clean handkerchief around the finger. "What happened?" he pulled a stool over and sat her down, concerned that she had gone very pale.

"Something in the box," she gasped and swallowed, "I ... er..." she glazed over.

"Head between your knees," he said, practically, "take a deep breath."

For a few moments there was a silence as he stood there gently stroking her back and hiding her from the view of anyone who should pass.

"Thank you, Jack," she looked up, embarrassed, "I don't usually have a problem with blood ..."

"... probably because of the head bump," he squatted down in front of her, "take your time ..."

She took a deep breath but kept her gaze on his face and away from the hand he was holding very tight. Colour began to return to her cheeks and she ventured a small smile.

"Perhaps you could have a look," she murmured, "be careful though, I think it was a blade," she looked at her glove which confirmed her thoughts. The end of the finger was sliced through, cleanly.

"We could do with Dr Macmillan having a look at your finger," he gently lifted the handkerchief, now stained with her blood, "it's a straight cut, quite deep, but not very long." He wrapped it up again.

She inhaled again, "Oh, really, I cut my finger and nearly faint, how embarrassing."

"Hey," he placed his hand on her shoulder, "you are still recovering from a head injury, you have no need to be embarrassed."

"Well, you be careful, I don't have a clean hankie with me," she teased.

"Now that I find hard to believe, I shall have to have words with Miss Williams for not ensuring her mistress is properly attired for a day out," he teased.

He stood up and carefully, using a screwdriver, searched in the toolbox for whatever had cut her finger so cleanly and so deep. He found it, now with blood on the blade - a knife, a scalpel in fact. He looked across the bench for a piece of cable to test the theory, that such a blade was strong enough to cut through a brake cable enough to weaken it.

"What have you found, Jack?" Phryne craned her neck to see, "oh," she breathed, "will that do it?"

"Apparently," he turned with a piece of cable which he had made a small cut in, "now why would a mechanic, or race car driver, have a scalpel in his toolbox?"

"Why don't we go and find Ailsa or Connie?" she started to stand, reaching out for his arm. "perhaps they would know."

Arm in arm, they strolled again, this time to the Adventuress' Club tent, still apparently two lovers enjoying a day out.

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"God knows," Connie shrugged, "I've never had use for one, isn't that Mac's area?"

"Usually," Phryne perched on another stool, she'd be glad to get home but wasn't going to let anyone know, though she suspected Jack knew - just from the way he looked at her.

There was a roar from the crowd and a cheer. From her perch Phryne could just see people waving their arms and dancing around. The race was over.

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Even Dot's eyes gleamed with pleasure, as Gertie drove over the finish line, narrowly beating Cary Jones who strode away from his vehicle throwing his helmet on the floor like a spoilt child. Porter and Ellis weren't far behind him and came in third and fourth, respectively. Mac watched them head for Jones' tent deep in conversation, urgent conversation. She pulled Dot with her and they followed.

"Now what do I do?" Jones whined, "I'll never pay off the debts, vet school's finished for me ..." he cursed just loud enough for Dot to hear. She blushed.

"Bloody woman," Porter, or was it Ellis, hissed, "why did she have to race. I thought you'd put the wind up her."

"I did," Jones slumped on the stool that so very recently had a much prettier derriere resting on it, "that's why that Fisher woman took over. Society dame, never stood a chance ..."

"... but you made sure she wouldn't race, anyway?"

"Course I did," he sneered, "no chances."

Mac and Dot swerved towards the Adventuress' tent to see if there were any of the team there.

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Connie and Ailsa were nodding as Jack showed them what he and Phryne had found.

"That could well have done it," Ailsa was agreeing, "where did you find it?"

"Jones' toolbox," Jack put the evidence into an envelope, "Phryne cut her finger on it."

"That figures," Mac entered and joined the conversation. "We just heard Jones and his friends complaining. Gertie won, just, Jones is not happy. Debt apparently."

"Miss?" Dot noticed the bloody handkerchief, "are you alright?"

"War wound, Dot, I'm fine," she looked at Jack daring him to tell her companion she had nearly fainted, over a cut finger, of all things.

"I'm the doctor round here," Mac turned to administer first aid. "Quite deep; has it been cleaned?"

"Not yet," Phryne admitted, "but Jack's hankie is clean."

Mac scowled, Connie brought some clean water and gauze.

Keeping her eyes on Jack, Phryne managed not to wince as Mac cleaned and dressed her finger, cuts like that always hurt more than bigger ones.

"You'll live," she announced cheerfully, not mentioning how pale her patient was.

"So," Jack leant against the bench, "what's this about debt?"

"You'd better ask him," Mac smiled, "but I think they wanted the ladies out of the way."

"Right, well, when Collins gets here, and I hear about the race ..."

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Collins had collected the men from round the track and they discussed their observations, while trying to find the Inspector.

"It looked like they were working as a team," one constable noted, "you know, keeping the rest of the cars either bunched up or behind them so Jones could pull ahead."

"I saw that," Cec agreed, "car sixteen ..."

"...Ellis," supplied Hugh.

"Yeah, him ... almost had another off the road. The only thing with that was the woman, Gertie?..." he received confirmation this was so, "Gertie was able to pull ahead for a while."

"Gentlemen?" Jack approached them, "have you got anything for me?"

"Sir ..." Collins tapped his notebook, "quite a bit, we think."

Jack turned and nodded to Phryne who stood up and walked towards him. Mac linked arms with her, perfectly naturally, and they all headed to Jones' tent to, as Jack said, "have a word."

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Jones was defensive, once they caught him. On seeing five coppers, and two other men heading purposefully towards him, he and his two friends made a run for it. It was Bert that brought him down with an impressive rugby tackle. He denied he had anything to do with the cutting of the brake cables until Jack showed him the scalpel.

"I didn't want to kill her!" he squealed, "just keep her out of the race, not that she'd have won, but ..."

"Cutting brake cables is a bit strong," Jack drew his brows together, "sand in the fuel tank would have blocked the filter ..."

Phryne turned and stared, she'd have to get to the bottom of that one.

" ... a much safer way to slow down a car."

"Well if that other woman had not taken back her space ..."

"What did you do to Gertie, to get her to drop out?" Phryne stepped in, "I mean, what do you know about her that would have her cave in like that?"

"Er ... well," Jones looked down and scraped his toes in the sand, "I saw her, with someone ... you know, told her I would tell if she didn't lose the race."

Phryne looked at him, puzzled. The members of the Adventuress' club were free to pursue relationships, with whoever they wanted to as long as they didn't upset another member. As far as she knew Gertie had no designs on anyone, but she wasn't the type to flaunt her conquests.

"Who?" Jack snapped into the awkward silence.

Jones refused to look at him, until he stepped towards him and asked again, suggesting they could continue down at the station.

"That other mechanic," he looked over at Ailsa, "they were ... well ... close, you know ... touching."

Gertie and Ailsa looked completely nonplussed. What on earth was the young fool talking about. There was a strained silence then Gertie laughed.

"Idiot," realisation dawned, she had had nothing to worry about, but the way he had threatened her had had her thinking he had caught her with a certain someone she wasn't going to mention, because he was married. He hadn't said it was an incident with Ailsa. "You mean this ..." she un-buttoned her overalls and pushed them open to reveal a nasty looking red line from her collar bone over her breast. "... Ailsa was checking to see if there was any blood. I slipped while working on a car, a cable, under tension, hit me, bloody hurt I can say."

"I'll have a look at that later," Mac nodded, "just to check."

"Thanks, Mac. You weren't around and as there didn't seem to be any real damage ..."

"I know," the doctor smiled and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

Jack continued, "I suppose you couldn't think of anything to challenge Miss Fisher about, so decided a more 'practical' way of keeping her out of the race was called for."

Jones nodded his head, slowly, realising he'd been caught and it wasn't just his career as a vet that was scuppered. His father would stop his allowance completely now ... if only he'd agreed to pay off his gambling debts...

"I heard you tell your friends that Miss Fisher didn't stand a chance at winning, anyway, something about a 'society dame'," Mac glared at him, "what makes you think that just because of where she is, socially, she wouldn't be able to win a car race?"

He shrugged and muttered something about 'women drivers'.

"Cec, Bert," Jack turned to the red raggers, "any thoughts on Miss Fisher's driving?"

"Well ..." they didn't want to get her into trouble, their extra income depended on it, "she's a good driver ..."

Phryne turned and raised an eyebrow, quizzically.

"Er ... what we mean, boss," Cec cut in, "is that we would have put money on you winning."

"Thank you, Cec," she smiled sweetly.

"No worries," he grinned.

After taking Phryne aside and telling her to go home, with Mr Butler, Mac and Miss Williams, Jack instructed Collins to take Jones, Ellis and Porter to City South, where they would conduct formal interviews and charge them.

"Jack, can't I come?" she tipped her head to one side.

"Not this time, Miss Fisher," he smiled gently, "you go home and I shall come over later and tell you all. I'll even bring their statements over for you to read."

"You could always offer the chance of a race - me against him - when I'm fully recovered," she touched his arm, "as a punishment."

Jack had no doubt who would win, and it was a thought, though they had endangered life and that required legal recompense.

"Dinner, then, Inspector," she turned to Mac, "home, I think, doctor, I could do with a cup of tea."

"Excellent, idea, Miss Fisher," inwardly Mac heaved a sigh of relief, and offered Phryne her arm.

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It didn't take Jack long to get the whole story out of Jones. He had run up some gambling debts and his father had refused to pay them. He had been told to 'man up', find a way to raise the funds and concentrate on his studies. The family were reasonably well enough off, his father, having built a printing business up from practically nothing, he had a strong work ethic and expected his son to have the same. He had decided that if he won the race his worries would be over, he could pay off the debts and continue his course. Now he also had to pay for the tools and equipment he had used for the race. He put his head on the desk in the interview room and sobbed. Jack was disgusted.

"You know, Jones," he leant over the desk, "what you did to the lady's car could have killed the driver, you didn't think, all you saw was your own need. Well, I'm afraid I agree with your father, it's time for you to 'man up'. You, and your friends, are charged with conduct likely to endanger life," he looked up at Collins, "take him down to the cells, Collins."

"Sir," Hugh took Jones by the elbow and propelled him out of the room and down to the cells.

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Mr Butler drew up outside Wardlow, and Dr Macmillan escorted Miss Fisher into the house and into the parlour.

"Tea, Miss Fisher?" Mr Butler hung her coat up, and deposited Mac's hat on the stand in the hall.

"That would be lovely, Mr B," she smiled and flopped down on the chaise longue.

Mac sat opposite and studied her friend. Still pale and obviously not fully recovered, she suggested she have a lie down after tea, until dinner.

"I'm fine, Mac," Miss Fisher pushed herself up, "tea and some of Mr B's delicious food and I'll be even better." She smiled.

"Phryne ..." Mac's voice had an almost warning sound, "just an hour, please."

"I'll see," Mr Butler chose that moment to enter with the tea. Scones, cakes, small sandwiches - Phryne's face lit up, "lovely, thank you, Mr B." She piled her plate and tucked in which relieved Mac. She would have been worried if Phryne had not eaten as well.

"Will you join us for dinner, Mac?" she asked, swallowing a second piece of scone.

"I am so behind on my surgeries, darling," the doctor laughed, "I need to see to my patients. I think I can trust you to Mr Butler and Dot, and, at a pinch, the Inspector ... at least he can get you to hospital quickly."

Phryne lowered her eyes and smiled, "alright, and I promise to behave."

"Ideally, I wouldn't advocate alcohol, certainly no whisky," Mac sighed, "perhaps a glass of wine, at the most," she waited for a reaction, "good, I shall see you tomorrow, just to check up on you."

"Thanks, Mac," she looked her friend in the eye, "I'll do my best not to overdo things."

Dr Macmillan did not believe her for an instant and showed it in her face, but she didn't pass comment.

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Jack headed to his small house to change. With the miscreants languishing in the cells he had time to freshen up before joining Miss Fisher for dinner. It had shaken him, that he had thought she was killed in a road accident, and then not so. His emotions were all of a jumble. He liked her, she was intelligent, incisive; her insight into the human condition had helped him solve more crimes than he'd care to admit. He enjoyed working with her, the banter, the teasing and the ultimate nightcap to mull over the case before and after they were solved. To top it all she was attractive, fun to be with and ... and ... dammit all, he cared for her! More than cared.

His stomach rumbled, breaking his ruminations, and brought his mind back to the dinner he was to have with her. He could cry off, work, tidy the paperwork for the case - but, no ... he'd said he'd let her see the statements, not promised - just said he would - and he couldn't break his word.

He drew up outside the house. He could see a shape sitting on the window seat, staring out onto the street. He smiled and waved.

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After tea and seeing Mac out, Phryne had bathed in her current favourite jasmine bath oils, applied fresh make up and decided on a jade silk evening gown. Settling mid calf, and with an intricate beaded design, it hung elegantly on her svelte frame. She had brushed her hair and clipped a diamond and jade decoration over her left ear. Only to herself did she admit she should have gone to bed with hot chocolate and rested.

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"Hello, Jack," she hummed, low and rather sexy, "I'm so glad you could tear yourself away from the case."

"Miss Fisher," he bowed slightly, "you are looking better."

"Why, thank you, Inspector," she smiled, "I am feeling somewhat recovered."

She stepped aside and he entered, hanging his hat and coat on the stand.

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She read through the statements, pursing her lips as she did so.

"Honestly, Jack," she sipped a glass of lemonade, mindful of what Mac had advised and how she felt, "they are almost as bad as my father."

He declined to comment, only really knowing about the Baron from her.

"So, you are charging them?"

"I have to Miss Fisher," he swallowed a mouthful of her malt whisky that she insisted he have, "they did endanger life."

"Hm, I suppose so," she agreed, "what do you think they'll get?"

"A prison term," he sighed, "not too long, but I can't see them getting off with a fine."

"Sad," she inhaled, "sad and stupid, god I feel old," she leant back on the chaise longue, "am I old, Jack? When these things seem to be so silly, when I can't see the point in such rash behaviour?"

"Old," he grinned and raised his eyebrows, "you, Miss Fisher, will never be old."

"Dinner is served, Miss, sir," Mr Butler opened the parlour door.

"Lovely, Mr B, I have need of sustenance and cheer," she peeled herself off the chaise and accepted the Inspector's arm as they headed in to dine on a light vegetable medley, poached salmon on spinach, roasted chicken breast with rosemary potatoes, carrots and a light sauce made from the roasting juices, followed with a lemon posset and shortbread biscuit. Phryne drank no more than a glass of chilled chablis and Jack followed her lead.

The chatted about the ways of the world, Jack asked about her father, and, despite her usual reticence she told him that he was a gambler, a charmer and a general thorn in her side.

"How mother has stood him for all these years is beyond me," she ran her finger round the edge of her glass.

"Love does strange things to people, " he mused, thinking on his own failings as a husband.

She had no answer for that, she wouldn't know, she thought.

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The evening continued in the parlour, over coffee and chequers. Dot knocked and asked if there was anything else her mistress needed.

"Thank you, Dot, no," Phryne smiled, the poor girl looked as if she had had enough for the day. "Go to bed, I can see to myself." Knowing her companion would have left her nightwear out ready for her, and the bed turned down.

"Very well, Miss, good night," Dot heaved a sigh of relief. She had found the whole experience of Miss being hurt in a car accident particularly draining, and she had a dreadful headache.

Jack could see that Phryne was battling tiredness, and possible a headache as she unconsciously rubbed her temple, but she wasn't going to give in, until she had won the last game.

"There is one thing I wanted to know, Inspector," the Lady Detective turned to her dinner companion, "what's this about sand in a fuel tank?"

"Oh, that," he smiled, "well, it was a way of stopping the enemy transport, if we came across it during sorties. Some of us carried a small bag of sandy soil in our pockets."

"I'll remember that," she smiled, moving a chequer across the board. "You are a dark horse, Jack Robinson, what else lurks beneath that honourable exterior."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, making his move and taking three of her pieces. "You're not concentrating, Miss Fisher."

It was true, she wasn't concentrating - on the game.

"Oh, I would, very much so," she fluttered her eyelashes and flashed him a sultry smile.

For all her teasing she couldn't hide just how tired she was and stifled a yawn as Jack made another move, effectively finishing the game.

"Well done, Jack," she leant back into the chaise, "I shall have to get my revenge sometime."

Jack stood and took the board away, folding it and placing it in its box with the pieces.

He turned, about to suggest he leave her and smiled. She had fallen asleep in the time it took to put the game away. He wondered if he could rouse her just enough for her to get up to her bedroom, but, no, she was out like a light.

Jack couldn't leave her there, she would be stiff as a bone when she woke, sore and cold, though he could ask Mr Butler to fetch a blanket. He decided to alert the man and ask him to see if he could rouse Miss Williams while he carried Phryne up the stairs.

"Very well, sir," Mr Butler nodded.

"Can't leave her there," Jack told him, "I'll never hear the last of it."

"Indeed," Mr Butler headed up to Dot's room, pausing on the way to push the master bedroom door open.

Jack lifted her into his arms, making sure her head rested against his chest. She murmured in her sleep but made no indication she would wake. The scent of jasmine lingered from her bath earlier and he thought of all the burdens he had to carry, this was the lightest.

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As he lay her gently on the bed, Mr Butler stepped into the doorway.

"I'm sorry, sir," he murmured, not wanting to wake his mistress, "Miss Williams has taken a headache powder and can't be woken."

"Thank you, Mr Butler," Jack nodded, "there's nothing else we can do." He watched the man disappear to his own quarters. Somehow he didn't think the Inspector would be leaving that night.

Jack looked at her; was she really asleep, or was she up to something - which he felt she could be quite capable of. Well, he'd put Rosie to bed before, how difficult could it be, just remove the hair clip and her shoes, undo the clips at the side of her dress and slip it over her head. That was all, she could sleep in whatever was underneath. Miss Williams would be scandalised, but the dress was heavily beaded and would not be comfortable to sleep in. He certainly couldn't ask Mr B to help.

The clip and shoes dealt with, he unfastened the clips on her dress then slipped his hand behind her back and lifted her into a sitting position, resting her forehead against his chest. She sighed and moved her head to the side, it must be uncomfortable, against the bruise, he thought. Raising her enough to pull the dress up he gently threaded her arms through the arm holes and lifted it over her head and let it slip to the floor.

Her silk slip was a paler shade of the jade and had ridden up to give him a glimpse of the top of her stockings and the garter she usually used to retain a small dagger. He was pleased to see it was just for show, tonight.

Lying her down and pulling the soft silk sheets over her then watching to see if she disturbed, he couldn't help but wonder about them as a pair.

She was beautiful, serene in sleep and at the moment she looked small. She shifted and her fringe moved, exposing the bruise, which brought him back to why he was standing in her bedroom, having taken her dress off and put her to bed. He smiled to himself and decided he'd better leave, contrary to Mr Butler's belief.

But first ... he leant over and softly kissed her cheek, "sweet dreams, Miss Fisher," he whispered.

She mumbled something in reply, he froze, then realised she was still asleep. He smiled, picked the dress up and draped it over the dressing table stool, then slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

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Paperwork finished, Jack leant back in the chair at his desk. He'd got into the office early, unable to sleep as The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, intruded on his dreams. She wafted through his subconscious, sometimes teasing him, fully clothed, or dreamily sipping champagne wearing nothing but the jade slip he had put her to bed in, and on one occasion, naked, in his arms. When he woke with a start, chiding himself for having the dreams of a teenager, he decided that he'd be better off at his desk in City South.

He stripped the bed and threw the linen and his pyjamas in the laundry basket to be sorted later, hoping his daily help wouldn't investigate too closely.

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Miss Fisher was woken by Dot, sniffling but better than she felt the night before, with a tray of tea and toast. Mr Butler had suggested tea that morning, as her usual coffee was rather strong.

"Something light, I think, Dorothy," he smiled as he passed her the tray, "breakfast when she's ready."

He had told her he had been unable to rouse her to help her mistress the night before and that he thought the Inspector had put her to bed. Dot, predictably, was shocked and wondered what she would find in her mistress' room.

She was relieved not to have to face the Inspector, just Miss Fisher, bleary eyed and wearing her slip, underwear and stockings.

Phryne, for her part, did not remember going to bed but wondered why her companion had not ensured she was in her nightwear, surely she had helped.

"Miss, I'm so dreadfully sorry," Dot blushed, "I took a headache powder, it knocked me out. Mr Butler tells me the Inspector brought you upstairs, perhaps ..."

"Don't worry, Dot," Phryne put the pieces together and came up with a picture. "It looks like the Inspector was a little shy last night."

"Oh, Miss," she gasped, "I'm sure ..."

"Ever the gentleman, Jack Robinson, Dot," she smiled, "at least he made sure I didn't sleep in my dress, the beading would have been terribly uncomfortable."

"Yes, Miss, of course," Dot breathed a sigh of relief. "Shall I run you a bath?"

"Please, " Phryne sipped the tea, which she found was just what she needed, then nibbled the toast, liberally spread with orange marmalade.

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"Jack!" she tripped into his office, smiling, a vision in a pale blue day dress, navy blue cloche; to hid the bruise; and matching coat, pale blue gloves and mary janes.

"Miss Fisher," he stood, "you seem well rested."

"I am," she headed to his side of the desk, "thank you, for last night," she breathed. He cleared his throat and sat down, while she took her customary position on the corner of the desk.

"Yes, well ..." he really had nothing to say to that, it sounded so much more than it was.

"I must reward you," she leaned closer, "dinner, perhaps I'll stay awake."

"You were tired, the head injury ..." Jack linked his hands in his lap, hoping to hide what was happening there.

"I need to exact my revenge over the chequers board," she teased, slipping a glove off and tracing her finger down his cheek. Then, having brought him to the verge of embarrassing himself, she slipped off the desk, winked and sailed out in a cloud of lavender and jasmine.

He sat there taking deep even breaths to get back to his usual professional mode, before returning to reading mundane reports, clearing his mind of what she did to him. She'd be the death of him, he mused.

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Phryne knew exactly what she had done to the Inspector, and it made her smile, broadly. She headed over to the hospital to see Mac, an appointment the doctor had insisted on that morning.

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"Well, darling," Mac grinned at her, "you seem to be remarkably chipper this fine morning, what have you been up to, or shouldn't I ask?"

"Nothing naughty, I assure you, Mac," Phryne sat opposite her oldest friend, the one who knew her best of all, "though I am hoping to remedy that fairly soon."

"The Inspector?" Mac leant forward on her desk, "poor sod. Have you been teasing him again?"

"Only a little bit," she giggled, "he did put me to bed last night, though," she added conspiratorially.

Mac raised her eyebrows, though she couldn't imagine the Inspector taking advantage of a lady's vulnerabilities, though that was putting a bit strong.

"Alright, he took my dress off, shoes and left me under the sheets in my slip and underwear," she shrugged, "I'm working on him."

"Phryne," Mac sighed heavily, "he's not your usual type, too upright. Don't hurt him, I'd hate to see your friendship end."

"Why Dr Macmillan," she teased, "not sweet on him yourself, are you?"

Mac rolled her eyes and brought her back to the reason she was there. She checked her reflexes, pupil reactions and balance and found all to be perfectly fine. She looked at the bruise, a very fine collection of colours, she told her, "it will fade over the next week or so, when it starts to look less like a rainbow, you can put a little make up on," she patted her shoulder.

"Oh, really?" Phryne asked, "why do I have to wait?"

"For the next few days I need to be able to see it, not to have to clean your face first," Mac linked her hands over her desk, "though I'm not suggesting you will faint or collapse ..."

Phryne breathed a sigh of relief.

"... but just in case."

"Thank you Mac," she replaced her hat and gloves and stood up, "I do appreciate you, you know I do. You are my oldest and best friend ..."

"... and always will be, darling," Mac smiled.

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"No, Dot, not the blue," Phryne discarded yet another suggestion for the dress she would wear that evening. She had decided against openly seducing Inspector Jack Robinson, this was to be his decision, something she had never thought of before, letting a man lead her, except in a dance, but this time ...

"Well, Miss," Dot turned from the wardrobe, "what about this?" She held out a black sheath dress, sleeveless, draped low in the back and covered in tiny diamante. It sparkled in the light, would hang beautifully on her slim figure and highlight her clear skin.

"Dot, you are a genius!" Phryne took the dress off her and held it up against her front, looking in the mirror and grinning.

"Not really, Miss," Dot inclined her head, "just ..."

"...just very insightful, Dot dear," Phryne patted her cheek. "Very."

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Jack enjoyed dining with Miss Fisher, the food was superb, the company enlightening, entertaining, but tonight, as he tied his tie; one Phryne had bought for him; he had a feeling ... and it wasn't a feeling he was averse to.

He'd had time to think, recently, about her, and about how he felt. She'd not shown much interest in bringing her dancing partners home recently, according to Collins, who had it from Miss Williams. She had confided in the young constable that she was distracted, and not in the usual way. Miss Williams had told Hugh, "really, she isn't ill, but I do believe she has eyes, desires for only one man." Collins hadn't told him the whole conversation, just that Dot was concerned for her mistress. Was there a chance she was more than interested in him? And, if there was, could he be sure he was not going to be a 'quick fling,' an addition to her list of lovers. He couldn't stand that. He'd been faithful to Rosie, except for a couple of times when he was away in France. He'd always told himself it was the war, everybody did it, and it didn't mean anything. Anyway, that aside, he would expect, hope, that any lover of his would be his alone. Selfish? Maybe, but that was how it had to be, this was something he couldn't share.

So, here he was again, at the end of a case, that they had discussed the previous evening, dined and played chequers, standing at the gate to 221B The Esplanade, and wondering.

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They ate and drank and ruminated on the mad things someone will do in order to pursue happiness.

"You know something, Jack?" Phryne ran her finger round the top of her glass, staring at the copper coloured Armangnac, "I'm not really sure what happiness really is."

"Is that so, Miss Fisher," he looked at her across the room.

"Just once, Inspector, would you call me by my name, while I am conscious," she put the glass on the small table between them.

"Well, I'm not sure I should be so familiar," he teased, "to one of your social standing."

"If I was still the Collingwood girl?" her accent slipped, slightly, "what would you call me then?"

He considered his answer, then put his glass next to hers before rising and going to sit next to her, on the chaise longue.

"Perhaps I would call you Phryne, or maybe love, or pet," he murmured, "what would you call me?"

"Just Jack, my Jack," she whispered and leant against his shoulder.

She was perfumed, warm and soft, it was just right for him to put his arm round her waist and hold her.

"I think," she sighed, "I think this is near to happiness," she tipped her head to look at him.

His free hand slid up her side to her cheek, then round the back of her head, and drew her into a soft, lingering kiss. Light, tender and more than she knew a kiss could be. She was lost.

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She woke with her legs tangled with another's, her head on a warm chest the echo of a steady, strong heartbeat in her ears, and a completeness in her heart.

He had made love to her deeply, tenderly and slowly, taking her round the universe to a heart bursting climax which left them both satisfied pink and glistening.

All the money, jewels, elegant gowns and fast cars in the world could never give her what Jack had given her last night.

He was definitely worth the wait.

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So, there we have it, Jack and Phryne not having to circle each other after the case, but to meet and become who we want them to be, well me anyway. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed this story, your comments have been really heart-warming.


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